Duckmob!

Duckmob!

A completely different concept for the Thursday vote-o, as I am stupidly busy this week. And it is this:

On Thursday, I shall be in that there London, taking part in a none-more-serious conference on broadcasting, kneeling before the sainted Greg Dyke, saviour of the BBC and now owner of Bob the Builder.

Between the hours of 1330-1400 BST, however, I shall be sitting by the statue of Eros at Picadilly Circus – coach-loads of tourists permitting – and the first person to thrust a piece of paper no larger than 149mm by 79mm* into my hands bearing the name of one of the following five tales of mirth and woe will see their choice published on Friday.

In internet terms, one might call this “thrusting!”, “cutting edge!” And possibly “bloody stupid!” Readers living abroad may like to head to a local airport in the first instance, and avail yourself of one of the many flights heading towards London. By God, it'll be worth it***.

You may also be photographed for mirth/woe/fwappage purposes.

Choose-me-do!

- Foot in Mouth
- Hawk
- Incy Wincy
- Thumb
- Scott the Plank

By way of a clue, I look like this.

I have a feeling that this will be less “flashmob” and more “flash-sitting-on-my-arse-swatting-away-wilburs-like-an-utter-twat”, so the rest of you had better do the vote-me-up as usual.

*The same size as a twenty pound note**, coincidence fans!
** Or, you could just give me a piece of paper
*** Lie.

Update: Well, that's thirty minutes of my life I won't see again, you miserable bastards. What was a man to do? I got there early, left late, and was surrounded by swarms of nubile young tourists on a sweltering hot day and ...ooh!... bouncy!